Not Until It's Over
by lost.long.ago
Summary: My own take on the events in Mass Effect 2; Shepard's last moments with the Normandy and forward.  Please rate/review :D
1. The End

DISCLAIMER- All of the characters and everything this is based on belongs to BioWare, not me.

_Cold._ It slid across my skin in frigid, pulsating waves, leaving an empty numbness in its wake.

_Cold? Why would I-_

I glanced down to find my body armor riddled with tears and dark scorch marks. _Interesting._ The heat from that last fusion explosion had actually burned through the synthetically enhanced cloth in a number of places, leaving glimpses of puffy, shining skin poking out from behind tattered threads still glowing with embers. It looked disgustingly painful, but somehow, I felt nothing. _Shock, perhaps, _I considered detachedly. _Well, at least I've still got air. _I knew luck had been on my side for my respiration system to still be function. Sure, it might've been against me in all other regards, but part of me liked clinging to the ignorance granted by sunny optimism.

The direness of my situation finally registered somewhere in the back of my mind, but it didn't instill the sort of panic one might have expected. I suppose the moment my fist had touched that emergency eject button, part of me had already come to terms with my fate.  
>It's funny, how you can choose to accept something without even realizing the choice was there to be had. I'm supposed to be one entity, with a single mind, a single consciousness. But why, then, do I always get the feeling I'm built of a thousand little pieces, each struggling against the will of the others to have its way with me?<p>

A gentle vibrating entered my awareness as my suit's innerworkings sprung to live, dispensing sealants and medi-gel throughout its systems. Yet, as I watched drops of my life force continue to spill forth from one of the ruptures, I knew it wouldn't be enough.

It was strange. Thoughtlessly, I reached out and pinched one of the suspended crimson orbs, smearing it between my thumb and forefinger while imagining its metallic smell. Death was supposed to be heavy, like the unbearable weight of some terrible burden pressing down upon your shoulders, driving you to the ground as you struggle to plough forward in pursuit of life.

Here, there was no weight. Here, I couldn't fight or sprint clear of mortality's grasp. Here, there was only a void, and part of me cried out in frustration at my inability to give this death added meaning. But, part of me, I tried to convince myself, wanted to find calm and solace in the silence.

I let my fingers fall apart and watched as the thin coating of blood, my blood, beaded up at their tips.

Turning around was a painful struggle. It took a few tries to get my shoulders and hips to work together and send me spinning, and then quite a bit more effort to stop.

The wreckage was now before me, a twisted collection of steel and machine parts and seemingly out of place every-day objects, all awash in the light of sparks and the small jets of flames that could be found where I guessed there was oxygen enough to burn. But none of that mattered. It was what was beyond that I needed to see.

Blinking gently in the distance were the escape pods. They couldn't have been more than 3 miles away: Wrex and Liara, Ashley and Garrus, Tali and the doctor, and a lonely Joker trailing just a little behind. That fleet of oddly-shaped compartments signified life, and the sight of them seemingly quelled my compulsion to act; those who had helped to give my life so much meaning would now do the same to my death.

A wave of embarrassment washed over me. "What's with all the deep, philosophical stuff today, huh? You know, it's a good thing no one else is around, or my reputation would be toast." The crummy joke sounded even tackier from the echoing seclusion of my helmet.

A flare of blue light poured forth from what must have been the Normandy's reactor, followed closely by a crushing wave of force and heat. The air fled my lungs as the power of it struck my chest.

I was spinning aimlessly away from the wreckage amid a collection of debris.

Taking a breath was a struggle; my diaphragm should've loosened up by now, but my lungs still refused to expand. Suddenly aware of the coolness emanating from somewhere near the back of my neck, I flung a gloved hand to my helmet in a frenzied panic.

_**No!**_

My frozen fingers fumbled around the severed end of a tube that should have led to my suit's air-recycling unit. It was too late; by now, most of the air would have dissipated into the surrounding vacuum. My fast-coming death had a sense of reinsured finality.

Lungs burning, I tried to relax, to let it all end peacefully despite my discomfort. I was fully engaged in a war to maintain control. I tried to focus on my surroundings, to not think of myself and how cold I felt in contrast to the hot pain in my chest.

Blinking lights.

My eyes somehow found and fought to stay locked to that small army of lights, of meaning. The desire to see those inside them one more time hit me as they slowly faded from blue, to gray, to black.

As the cold fled away, I smiled painfully.

The darkness consumed me.


	2. Author's note

**Author's Note-**

Ah. I suppose, since you're reading this, that you managed to survive my writing. Kudos, and thank you for taking the time.

This felt like a poor place to put an author's note, being only one quick chapter into the story.

When I began writing this story in a boring lecture hall, I had simply wanted to portray Shepard's death in a more artistic and philosophical light. This left me an opportunity to explore what actual death would be like in a second chapter, which I, once again, grabbed without second thought. Now that I've made up my mind on how to continue, however, things have been rearranged to fit my desires (just a quick update for those few of you who read it prior to this note).

To be honest, I was confused as to how to go on after that; to actually try to come up with an original retelling of ME2 is a rather intimidating idea, yet people seemed to expect I go somewhere with it. There is simply so much to cover, and to make it my own would require and immense amount of added bits and details…

Sorry, guys and gals, but I kind of need to have a life outside of fanfic, and I have a potentially good novel to work on :] Additionally, I must say that it was the other asari teammate in the series who stole my attention and brought me here.

However, I have never been one to back down from a challenge. No promises of greatness here, or of regular updates, or even that things will match-up with the ME universe, as I'm not much of one for comic releases and such (no time to stay up-to-date :\). From here on out, there will probably be a number of minute differences.

I will, however, try to stick with it.

Perhaps this was a pointless note… nah. I felt the need to put it here.

But, there you have it; my disclaimer so that I can officially slack. :D

I like my salad with an extra serving of frozen socks, and I take baths in bourbon… that was my nonsensical attempt to see if you were really still paying attention :P Nonsensical= one of the best words ever.

Thanks for the support, and now on to the story!


	3. Chapter 2  A Broken Joker

**Joker**

It was supposed to be a life boat, but right now, it felt a hell of a lot more like a cell.

"God damn it, Commander! Shit, shit, shit…" I spat the word out over and over again as I pounded against the release button on my seat. I wanted to run to the windows, to open the escape pod's door and somehow dive out into the emptiness. I needed to get her back.

A few frantic minutes passed before the vessel's safety protocols let me loose. The moment the black, padded restraint rose, I fell to the floor, crawling towards a thick pane of glass at one end of the ship. Fuck my legs. They were the least of my worries.

"Commander!" My breathing was uncontrollably as my eyes searched for any sign of my commanding officer. No, not officer. Friend. I pressed my hand up against the cool glass, leaning in closer.

There was nothing.

It was all my god damn fault. I punched my fist against the steel wall, cracking the skin on two of my knuckles. The pain felt good; it was deserved. _If I hadn't been so damn stupid!_ _If I hadn't tried to save my ship. I could've… if I had…_

I tore off my hat and threw it across the tight space angrily.

_I'm so fucking helpless. All my shitty life, all I've ever done is fail. I thought I could do something great, that I'd found my place, but I always just mess every-fucking-thing up._

Curling up into a ball on the cold floor, I tried not to cry. God, I tried so damn hard, but it didn't matter; tears came pouring out anyways.

"Joker? Shepard? Are you there?" A static voice leapt from the intercom as its systems hummed to life. "Hello? Anyone?"

_Liara. _I sat silently, not wanting to be alive. She kept asking, refusing to accept the silence, and soon enough, more voices came on line.

"Commander, are you and Joker alright?" Ashley asked, the speaker system doing nothing to eliminate the concern in her voice.

"Shepard?" was all Wrex offered in his unreadable, gravelly way.

They began to converse, to list the survivors in their pods, while I sat there listening numbly.

"I'm here." It took me a moment to realize the voice was mine. It was pitiful, dejected.

"Joker!" Everyone seemed to say my name at the same time, as if I was going to eliminate the anxious fear that held them all in its grasp.

"Joker, is the Commander okay? Why isn't she speaking?" The asari's voice crackled with blend of hope and fear.

"I…" the words stuck in my throat. _God, they're all going to hate me. They should. I'm the one to blame here._ "The Commander… she didn't make it."

The silence seemed to never end.

"What? No, that… that makes absolutely no sense. She would not… she could not… no, no, no…"

Something inside my chest twisted as I heard Liara's voice break.

It was my fault. Mine.

"She," I paused for a half-second. "She saved me." I didn't want to admit it. The shame of it weighed upon my shoulders.

", this isn't your fault." Dr. Chakawas's voice poured out from the speaker as she read and countered my very thoughts.

"Doctor," I began, stopping myself. There was no point to it. Opening up my omni-tool, I accessed the pod's communication controls. "I'm sorry, everyone, for fucking everything up."

Not waiting for any disagreement, I cut the off all transmissions. _Silence._

Curling up again, I tried to push everything away. I wanted to be empty. Everything was my fault.

She wasn't coming back.


	4. Chapter 3 Dreams and Nightmares

Everything here is nothing.

Erm, that's probably the most confusing way to put it.

It's an empty place.

No people.

No objects.

No light.

Just me. Well, I'm really not entirely sure of that even. I have no physical self here; my body is long gone. It's left behind.

Which, by the way, pisses me off. C'mon! I worked hard to look that good. Well, at least I don't have to worry about maintenance. Not that I ever put a lot of time into it anyways; the Geth never really seemed to care about my eyeliner.

I've let myself ramble. Here, I have that luxury.

It's an empty place. Nothing to be seen. I'm not even sure if sight exists here in that regard. But I feel. I am alone. Well, mostly alone. Just me with my memories and musings. They're so vivid. In life, I was so preoccupied with my environment that one thing never truly owned my thoughts. Here, there is a chance to focus.

I relive.

It's when I'm lost in rewind and fast-forward that I'm no longer alone. My essence is touched.

I imagine that it's the soul of whoever is in my thoughts. It's a nice thought. Maybe death isn't so very absolute; maybe I'm just a different sort of playing piece on the same board.

Liara is the most frequent. Not all connections are broken by mortality.

There was a lot of pain there at first. In her, not me. That sounds odd and unfeeling of me, but here, things are viewed from a distance.

I am a seer.

A wise-woman.

I see all but stand outside of the hurricane of emotion, observing.

Pain and frustration. They are joined by will and concentration. Beyond that, I can know nothing.

But time relieves pain; it does the job I should've been there to fulfill. I can appreciate that, but I know that time isn't the same where she is. There is hurt, but there is hope.

Time doesn't flow here. Everything is. There's no waiting or back-tracking. I can see what was before I arrived here. I can see what's after. But it's odd; there's a limit. I reach a point, sometime after my existence, and something holds me back from anything more than cryptic glimpses of events and faces and places which I have never known.

I cannot tell how long I've been here. A moment and a lifetime are one and the same.

Or hell, maybe I'm delusional. I don't know even what or why or where I am.

I am awake and sleeping, dead but alive, hoping whilst knowing.

I am dreams and nightmares.


End file.
